“Rosie, no. You’re not being fair,” Peggy says.
The ugly, old anger I feel toward Ma makes me twist the dishrag extra hard.
“I’ve always been too complicated for her,” I say. “She’s never understood me. She let Doli High put me on the pre-prison track! She married Larry, for heaven’s sake!”
“We all make mistakes,” Peggy says. “And Larry’s not all bad.”
I let out a pained laugh.
“Would you quit defending her?” I say, but it comes out as a squeak.
Peggy rises slowly from her chair and comes over to give me a hug. I stand stiffly in her arms, wishing this would all just go away. I thought going to Forge was going to fix everything. Give me real skills and a place to belong, away from my family. Now I’m right back where I started, only my life’s a thousand times worse.
“My parents were supposed to be home, waiting for me,” I say, my voice tight.
“I know, baby,” she says.
What am I doing wrong? How can I be so angry at my parents and miss them this much, too?
A banging noise from the closet makes me jump. Peggy loosens her arms.
“Keep it down in there!” I yell to Ian.
He shouts something back, muffled but angry.
Peggy releases me completely and turns toward the closet. “We’re going to have to check on him. Tell me what you know about this boy.”
I wipe my sleeve across my eyes and focus on the simpler, immediate problem of our hostage. Our disgusting hostage.
“His name’s Ian. Ian John Cowles,” I say. Of course I know his middle name. It’s so annoying, what I had to listen to from him. “He’s nineteen. He used to take care of dreamers like me at Onar. He liked to put makeup on the girls. He brought me little gifts, like lip balm and fresh mint leaves.” He liked me helpless. A shiver of revulsion ripples through me. “He had a crush on me, and I tricked him into thinking I liked him back so he’d lighten up on my sleep meds. That’s how I finally got away. He normally lives with his granny in Colorado. He likes to hunt, but he also rescues hurt animals when he finds them on the road. I thought he quit working for Berg, but obviously, he didn’t.”
“And you hate his guts,” Peggy says.
“Can you tell?” I say dryly. “Oh, and he had a cat named Peanut. She died. He still keeps her cage in his car.”
Peggy rubs her hands together. “Let’s see what Mr. Cowles has to say for himself.”
She steps over to the closet and opens the door.
Ian’s narrow features are normally pale, but now he’s red-faced and snotty. His teeth bite into the scarf gag, which has darkened with saliva. Still tied securely, he has shifted into an awkward sitting position among a jumble of hiking boots and a broom. His shirt is twisted, and with his wrists bound behind him, his skinny arms look unexpectedly strong. He flips his head, trying to get the sweaty, wispy blond hair out of his eyes. Angry, guttural noises explode around his gag.
“It won’t do you any good to yell,” I say. “No one can hear you. Okay?”
He says one more loud, indecipherable thing, and then goes quiet, looking at me through vicious eyes. He’s never looked more dangerous to me, and I think, This is the true Ian. This is who he is underneath.
“Myself, I’d give him more time to stew,” Peggy says.
He garbles into the gag again and looks furiously toward me. His demand is obvious.
“Hold still,” I say, and I lean in to get the scarf out of his mouth.
“Untie me,” he says, spitting. “This is ridiculous! I’m on your side.”
I wipe my fingers on my jeans. “What do you know about my family?”
“I told you. They’re gone. That’s all I know,” Ian says. “Berg sent me to get you, not them. Why don’t you call him if you want answers? Use my phone. Go on. It’s right in my pocket.”
I glance at Peggy, who shrugs. Then I reach into his pants pocket to find a phone and a small, clear box with a bunch of colored pills inside, red and yellow. I give it a shake, and Ian’s gaze glues to it.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Nothing. They’re for my heart. For when I’m stressed.”
I toss the box to Peggy and stand. “Do you realize what Berg wants to do to me?”
“It’s no secret,” Ian says. “He’s going to mine you again. He’s going to take out your worst dreams and leave the rest to help you heal, like before. You’re overdue. We need to get you back to treatment before you hurt yourself.”
He is so completely wrong that I’m actually impressed.
“Interesting,” Peggy says.
“Berg’s so-called treatment nearly killed me!” I say. “He ruined me!”
“You’re not ruined,” Ian says. “You’re overexcited. Unpredictable, maybe, but that’s not incurable. You just need the right care.” He tries unsuccessfully again to flip his sweaty hair off his forehead. “Untie me, Rosie. Let me help you.”
No possible way. “Why would you want to help me? Aren’t you mad that I ditched you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I was, at first. Any guy would be. I offered you everything,” he says. “But then I remembered how sick you are. I was worried for you.” He tilts his head to get a better look at me. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you. You know that. I’m not giving up on us when you need me most.”
Loathing renders me speechless.
Peggy clears her throat. “Touching devotion.”
Ian’s gaze never leaves my face. “I’m ready to forgive you, Rosie. You only have to ask.”
“Here’s what I have to ask,” I say. “I want to know the scope of Berg’s operation. A few days ago, I saw a picture of a vault of dreamers much bigger than the one at Onar. Is that the one in California that you once talked about? Where your dad works?”
He tries to sit up a little straighter, and the broom knocks out of the closet.
“It could be,” he says cautiously. “The big vault’s in Miehana.”
“Are there other vaults in the U.S.?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard of any.”
“Where is the one in Miehana, exactly?” I ask. “Do you have an address?”
He blinks at me, frowning. “No, he never told me.”
“But you’ve talked to him,” I insist. “You must have some idea where your dad is.”
“We email,” he says. “His phone doesn’t work underground.”
“Can you email him now?” Peggy asks.
“I will if you want. He doesn’t always answer.” He arches back and sniffs like he’s had a sudden jolt of pain. “Call Berg. Just talk to him. If he knows where your parents are, he’ll tell you.”
Peggy shakes a couple of Ian’s colored pills out onto her palm. “You’re looking a little stressed. Want one of these?”
Ian looks from Peggy to me and back. “No. I’m fine.”
“What are they? Roofies?” Peggy asks.
“No. Like I said, they’re for my heart,” he repeats.
“You’re a total liar. Are they for me?” I ask. “Were you going to drop one in my drink?”
His cheeks turn a livid red. “No,” he says. “They’re just nothing!”
He can rot in the closet for all I care. I yank the broom out of the way and slam the door.